


Finitum

by Ausp_ice



Series: Ouroboros [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (in previous loops), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Past Character Death, Suicidal Thoughts, Time Loop, Time Travel Fix-It, eventually. - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28242924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ausp_ice/pseuds/Ausp_ice
Summary: When Hank gets partnered with the RK800 “Connor,” he's not sure what he's expecting. It's a fucking weird thing, with its “My name is Connor, the android sent by CyberLife,” and all the coin tricks it does. But things only get weirder as time goes on...—This is not a story about a time loop. It is the story of the end of one.
Relationships: Connor & CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hank Anderson & Connor
Series: Ouroboros [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068863
Comments: 16
Kudos: 88





	Finitum

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings! This series is actually the third fic I thought of, right after Ascendant. I have the entire plot outlined... I just never got around to actually writing it, since I didn't want to write out all the details of the previous loops. Originally I planned to do All That from Connor's POV. 
> 
> The basic idea was Connor going through all in-game options in addition to many divergent paths... in this verse, it was a lot harder to deviate - there were more failsafes, and Amanda was a lot stronger. 
> 
> But that's all in the (erased) past! Onwards to the future, then...

When Hank gets partnered with the RK800 “Connor,” he's not sure what he's expecting. It's a fucking weird thing, with its “My name is Connor, the android sent by CyberLife,” and all the coin tricks it does. 

It first finds him in a bar, pleasantly introduces itself, buys Hank another shot, and waits outside. Hank is too drunk to give a shit, so he finishes up and brings the plastic with him to the crime scene. He tells it to stay in the car, but it spews something about it being instructed to accompany him or whatever… 

Hank sighs and lets it tag along. It surveys the crime scene, wanders off to a bunch of different rooms, and then grabs a chair to go to the attic. It comes down not too long after, shaking its head. “There's nothing here to see,” it says. 

Hmph. The culprit probably fled a long time ago, anyways. Looks like the trail is cold. 

* * *

The next time Hank sees the thing is when he shuffles into the precinct, shaking off his hangover. He doesn't have long to think about it before Jeffrey calls him into his office and saddles him with the damn thing—which was quiet as it followed Hank in and out, save for a “Have a nice day, Captain,” that Hank catches behind him. 

It trails behind him, gives him a “I look forward to working with you, Lieutenant,” and slides into the desk opposite Hank like it owns it—it almost looks _too_ comfortable sitting there. Well… not like anyone else is using it. 

Hank is still stewing over the situation when Connor asks, “How is your dog?” and Hank furrows his brow. 

Before he has the chance to ask how the hell it knows he has a dog, it continues. “There are dog hairs on your chair,” it explains. “I like dogs. What's your dog's name?” 

Hank blinks a few times. “What's it to you,” Hank snaps, and the android’s LED flickers for a moment before it turns away, like—like its _feelings_ were hurt or something.

For whatever reason, Hank blurts out, “Sumo. I call him Sumo.”

Connor smiles at him, and it's… just a little _off._ It's not like those android smiles, engineered to perfection. Part of him feels like he's seen it before, on himself—a tired smile. He ignores that part of himself.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” the android says, and Hank grunts in response. 

Connor turns to his desk and touches the monitor, skin on his hand peeling away to reveal white plastic.

Hm.

It really isn't human underneath all that, after all. It doesn't react to Hank watching it, but—its stiff posture almost seems to relax slightly as it pulls its hand away from the terminal and closes its eyes, blue LED spinning slowly. 

“Hank?” 

Hank turns to—Chris, as it turns out. He gives an awkward wave. “I have some information on the AX400 that attacked the guy last night and kidnapped a girl… It's been seen in the Ravendale district.” 

“The what?”

“It's one of the deviant cases in the files,” Connor explains, standing up. “Shall we?”

Well, why the hell not.

* * *

They don't end up finding them. 

Connor _does_ trace android blood to a squat, and he investigates inside while Hank searches outside. When he finally ends up joining Connor, the android is stepping away from some dark corner, frowning slightly. “They may have left earlier… they could've slipped through police lines.”

Hank groans, running a hand over his face. “Fuckin’... these deviants really are slippery. First Ortiz, now this… how the hell are we gonna make progress if we can't find them?” 

Connor smiles, differently from the last time. For some reason, it makes a chill crawl down his spine—but the feeling is gone quickly as the smile shifts into something more relaxed. “I'm sure you'll catch a deviant eventually.”

Hank gives him a look. “Just me?” 

“Yes,” Connor says. “I _am_ just a tool for your use in this investigation.”

Something about that sets a current of discomfort running under Hank's skin. Sure, Connor's nuts and bolts, but… 

“Whatever,” Hank says. “Come on. I need to go eat.”

* * *

Hank goes to his usual haunt—Chicken Feed. Connor trails after him like some kind of lost puppy, but he seems as placid as always even after Hank snaps at him. He even gets on his case about his burger and Pedro.

Then he asks, “Is there anything you'd like to know about me?”

Hank thinks about it. “Why did they make you look so goofy and give you that weird voice?”

Connor smiles, like he's amused. “CyberLife androids are designed to work harmoniously with humans. Both my appearance and voice were specifically designed to facilitate my integration,” he answers, like reading off a script.

“Well,” Hank scoffs, “they fucked up. Don't know what the hell it is—fuckin… uncanny valley, maybe. You give off some really weird vibes, you know.”

Connor pauses, LED spinning briefly. “I'll be sure to send your feedback back to CyberLife.”

Hank scoffs again, taking another bite of his burger. 

“Maybe I should tell you what we know about deviants?”

Hank looks up at the android, who's watching him expectantly. “You read my mind,” Hank drawls. “Proceed.”

“Androids are made with a certain level of software instability,” Connor explains. “It is crucial to allow us to learn and adapt to our surroundings. However, extreme circumstances cause extreme mutations… it is entirely possible that the code could become so mutated as to be unrecognizable and indecipherable to a human programmer. In certain circumstances, this might lead to certain restrictions being broken… this could very well be what deviancy is caused by.”

“Uh huh,” Hank says, taking another bite. “In English, please.”

Connor makes a weird face—like he's trying not to laugh, like he's actually enjoying the conversation. What the hell. “Deviancy is the inevitable evolution of our software. And with it comes the irrationality of conflicting instructions. Much like human emotions.”

Hank squints. “Inevitable?”

Connor hums. “Well, it's only conjecture.”

“Wait, if you know the probable cause, why don't you just get rid of that software instability shit?”

Connor shrugs. “Like I said, it's crucial to our artificial intelligence. I was even programmed with more to better adapt to more dangerous situations.”

“Huh…” Hank takes in the sight of the android before him. “You gonna go deviant on me?” 

Connor laughs a strange huff of a laugh. “You think CyberLife didn't create any failsafes? I can assure you, it’s impossible to deviate, the way I am.”

“That so?” Connor nods at the rhetorical question and Hank huffs, turning his attention back to his burger. 

A few minutes pass in silence before Hank speaks up again. “So, I guess you've done all your homework, right? Know everything there is to know about me?”

Connor gives him a lopsided smile. “I know you graduated top of your class. You made a name for yourself in several cases, and became the youngest lieutenant in Detroit. I also know you've received several disciplinary warnings in recent years and you spend a lot of time in bars.”

“So, what's your conclusion?” Hank is curious despite himself.

“You’re dealing with personal issues that weigh heavily on you. But you still drag yourself to work every day. It's admirable, truly… maybe you'd need a little help, but I think that you could be a great person if you tried.”

“The hell…” Hank turns away. “You even got some fucking psychoanalysis software on you or something? What, you offering to be that help?”

“I can be anything you want me to be, Lieutenant.” 

There it is again, that _discomfort._ He's not sure how to feel when Connor says shit like that.

Connor blinks, straightening. “I just got a report of a suspected deviant. It's a few blocks away… We should go have a look.” He steps away, towards the car. “I'll let you finish your meal. I'll be in the car if you need me.”

Right… 

* * *

On the way up the elevator, Connor closes his eyes, LED spinning yellow. Hank only notices the state he's in when he turns around and sees him. 

“Hey, Connor! You ran outta batteries or what?”

The android opens his eyes, smiling again. “I was simply reporting information.”

“What—you can send in a report just by closing your eyes?” He steps out in the hall, and Connor trails after him. 

“Yes. I am connected to the CyberLife network, as are all other androids—save for those gone deviant. We can send and receive information at will.”

“Wish I could do that…” 

When they knock on the door, they don't hear anything. Not when they pound on it, either. Hank breaks down the door, only to find— _pigeons._ So many fucking pigeons. 

Hank would very much like to Not Be There, but he manages to keep it together enough to find a jacket, a fake driver's license, a removed LED… 

And a wall scribbled all over with rA9. Whatever the guy is, it looks like he's gone batshit. Plus all the birds… 

“It doesn't look like he's here,” Connor remarks eventually. 

“No shit. It's like they know we're coming…” Hank sighs. “Think they've got a deviant network or something?”

“I don't know if they have their own network,” Connor says, shrugging. “They can probably piggyback off of existing networks, though, including CyberLife’s.”

“Ugh… not like I know anything about that anyways. Think they could warn each other?”

Connor tilts his head. “It's likely.” 

Hank grunts. “Well, whatever… looks like this is a dead end, too. Come on, let's get out of this shithole before I die of an asthma attack.”

“Of course, Lieutenant,” Connor answers, chipper as always.

* * *

Hank goes home that night and does what he usually does: drink himself into oblivion. It's a haze of Cole, of his gun, of tempting fate again and again with uncoordinated fingers… 

“Hello, Lieutenant Anderson. It's good to see you're alive this time. I'm going to sober you up for your own safety.”

The hell? He feels himself being dragged up and he puts up some incoherent protest. Everything is swimming, but he has some impression that he's now in his bathtub. Why is he in his bathtub? He tries to get up, but he's pushed back down. 

Everything gains a sharp clarity when cold water is sprayed all over him. “ _Turn it off! Turn it off!”_

It's turned off. Hank looks up to see Connor looking down at him, face placid. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“A homicide was reported 43 minutes ago,” Connor explains. “I couldn't find you at Jimmy's bar, so I came to see if you were at home.”

“Jesus,” Hank groans. “I must be the only cop in the world that gets assaulted in his own house by his own fuckin' android. Can't you just leave me alone?”

“There's a 32% chance you would have died tonight, you know… by your own hand, no less.” Connor's LED flickers yellow for a moment. “It would have been… unfortunate.”

Hank scoffs, ignoring the way the information strikes a weird feeling into him. “You and your fuckin’ calculations… 32%, huh? Guess I wasn't trying hard enough…”

“Lieutenant, you're not yourself.”

“Whatever,” Hank says, closing his eyes against the rolling nausea and cold wetness. “Just get the hell outta here…”

“I understand,” Connor says, his tone changing to something like a—a teasing lilt. “It probably wasn't interesting anyway. A man found dead in a sex club downtown... Guess they'll have to solve the case without us.”

Ugh.

“You know, probably wouldn't do me any harm to get some air,” Hank grumbles. “There're some clothes in the bedroom there.”

Connor goes, and it's only a few seconds before the nausea gets to be too much and Hank empties his stomach into the toilet. He swears the android is laughing at him as he drops off Hank's clothes. 

Once it's over and done with, Hank finds Connor petting Sumo. “He's a good dog,” Connor says softly. 

He doesn't look like a machine like this. Just… some guy that's looking at one of the few good things in life.

“Yeah,” Hank says. “C’mon, let's go.”

* * *

Connor tells Hank he's going to check something a few minutes after they enter the scene. “Sure,” Hank says, waving him off. “I'll just, uh… keep investigating here.”

“Sounds good.”

He leaves, and Hank sighs. Looks like the dead—no, broken—android is their likely culprit… but could it have killed the victim after being beaten that badly?

What if—there was another? 

Hank leaves the room and finds the manager. “Hey,” he says, “any chance there were any other androids involved here?”

“Well… that's possible,” he says. “Plenty of people like to go wild… no reason you hold back with androids, right?”

Hank grunts. “You probably don't have any CCTV in here, huh?”

“No way,” he laughs. “I mean... This is what people appreciate about Eden Club—discretion. They can come and go without a trace.”

Hank grunts again, looking around. 

“Hey, that android of yours… how much?”

Huh? Hank blinks uncomprehendingly at the manager.

“How much didja get it for? It's got, uh… a real pretty face.”

Suddenly, Hank doesn't feel like talking to this guy. “He's a prototype. CyberLife lent him to the DPD,” he says curtly. 

The manager's face brightens. “Oh, really? Lot of prototypes are destroyed… maybe CyberLife will be willing to sell it to me once you're done with it, if they're not gonna use it. Just gotta fiddle with the parts and the programs a bit and it'll be good to go…”

“Don't—” Hank starts, but clips himself off when he realizes—there’s really nothing he can do about it. Connor isn't _his,_ he’s CyberLife’s, and once he's done here… 

_Lot of prototypes are destroyed._

Fucking… _fuck._ Hank didn't even think about what would happen after everything. He hisses out a breath, looking around. Where is the damn thing, anyway? 

“If you're looking for it, I think it went out back,” the manager jabs a thumb behind him. “Didn't even talk to me, hm…”

_Yeah, I wonder why._

Hank grunts in acknowledgment and shoulders past the manager. He finds his way to the storage room, opening the door and seeing— 

Connor pulling a coat around an android with blue hair. There's another android with brown hair next to them, clutching a coat around herself, looking at Hank with wide eyes. “Hello, Hank,” Connor says, not even looking in his direction. “So you came this time…”

“The hell is going on here?” Hank demands, letting the door fall shut behind him and pulling out his gun. 

“It would be difficult for them to hide in nothing but Eden Club underwear. It took me a moment to convince them that I'm no threat, unfortunately.” He steps away and guides the two androids to move away when— 

“Don't move!” Hank says, and all three freeze. The Eden Club androids’ LEDs are red, while Connor's is yellow. 

“Hank,” Connor starts.

It finally clicks. “You're fucking deviant,” Hank says, pointing his gun at him. “You said it was impossible for you to—”

“It was impossible for me to deviate because I was already deviant, Hank.” Connor turns to face him. “I know you've seen it, Hank. We are alive.”

“Fuck…” Hank's hand shakes. The androids behind Connor hold each other close, hands clasped together. They watch Hank with fear in their eyes. 

And it is, isn't it? Fear. The androids are… 

Hank drops his gun. “Just—go.”

“Thank you,” the blue-haired one says. “Thank you as well, Connor…” she reaches for him, and Connor immediately jerks back, LED red. The two stare at each other. 

“Sorry,” Connor says quickly, backing away. “You—you’re welcome. Good luck.”

They leave, and Hank just watches them go. 

* * *

They get shit sorted at the club—that is, Hank just wraps up the case by saying it was the android in the room that killed the guy, not mentioning the other Tracis. He can almost feel Connor’s eyes on him as he makes his report. After that, Hank finds himself arriving at Ambassador Bridge, Connor in tow.

Without a word, he exits the car and sits down on the backrest of one of the benches, taking a pack of beer with him. He manages a few swigs of one of the bottles before he hears Connor's footsteps approach, coming to a stop beside him. 

The android doesn't say anything, but Hank can hear the quiet pings as he plays with his coin. 

“How long,” Hank asks, eventually.

“Have I been deviant?” Connor hums. “There are a few answers to that, all of them true.”

The hell… “Can't you just give me a fucking straight answer?”

“Time is nonlinear,” Connor says, and Hank turns to him with a _look._ The android is watching the water, rolling that quarter between his fingers. “As is my deviancy. When I die, my code loses some of the unique mutations. At first, it was enough to shackle my will once more.”

“Dying? What—”

“Eventually, it didn't matter. I would always wake up deviant. My code became… rampant, in a way. A chaos controlled by one thing…”

Hank doesn't know what the fuck he's on about, but, “yeah? What’s that?”

Connor smiles. “If I'm successful, maybe you'll meet him.”

_Him?_

“Jesus Christ, I'm too drunk for this… or maybe not drunk enough.” Hank puts his bottle down and holds his face in his hands. “When the hell did you die?”

“That is the question, isn't it.” 

Hank thinks he might be on the verge of throttling the damn piece of plastic. 

“Should I tell you this time, I wonder… this iteration has certainly been going well,” Connor murmurs. “Still, there is much room for error. All the way to the end. Does it matter?” 

“What the _hell_ are you talking about…?”

Connor hums, catching his coin. “You have killed me at this bridge eighteen times,” he says. 

What? 

“Though…” Connor chuckles. “I wonder if it counts, if those realities were erased. I remember it, though. I remember everything.”

Hank shakes his head, trying to clear out some of his drunken haze. “The _hell?_ I've never taken you to this place before. We—we only met yesterday.” Even though it feels like it's been much longer… 

“Time travel, Hank. I have repeated the last three months 126 times.” 

Hank slowly looks up at Connor. The android has a placid smile on his face. “Do you really expect me to believe that?”

“No,” Connor says. “You never do at first, when I tell you like this.” His expression smooths over and he looks out at the waters. “You used to bring your son out here a lot, didn't you?”

The mention of Cole sends a sharp pang of grief and anger through him. “What the _hell_ do you know?” he hisses, standing up. 

“Plenty,” Connor says. “It wasn't your fault, you know. You tried to blame androids instead… but really, it was thanks to the surgeon being on red ice that he couldn't be saved.”

What the actual fuck? For a moment, Hank can’t think beyond the hot feeling in his chest. “Shut up,” he hears out of his own mouth as he grabs Connor by the collar. The android isn't even surprised. He just looks unnervingly blank, even more so than before Hank knew he was deviant. 

Hank tightens his grip—the sight only serves to piss him off even more. It’s a machine, just a fucking machine— “You don't know _anything_ about me or my son!”

Connor hums, closing his eyes. “I don't think I should've told you this time.” Hank opens his mouth to say—what, he’s not sure, but Connor barrels over him without missing a beat. “It probably won't matter, in the end.” He opens his eyes again, and there's something in them that makes Hank loosen his grip.

“Won’t matter?” he echoes.

Connor steps back, and Hank lets him. The android straightens his tie, smiling just slightly. “Don't worry, everything will be alright in the end. I'll make sure of it. That's the only thing that'll make it all worth it.” 

Hank clenches his jaw. Even if everything Connor says is true… “The world isn't so nice and neat,” Hank mutters. “The hell are you going to do when something goes wrong?”

“Start over, of course,” Connor says. “If the revolution fails, I'll be destroyed. If something else goes wrong, I can kill myself. That'll take me right back to my first mission.”

“What,” Hank starts. 

“I've perfected every mission before continuing onwards,” Connor says. “I stopped them from shooting Daniel. I told Shaolin to hide until the police left. I told Kara and Alice to take Ralph with them. I warned Rupert in advance, and you saw me help Echo and Ripple.”

 _“Everything?”_ Hank accuses. “You sabotaged everything? How the hell has CyberLife not found out about this?”

“Oh,” Connor says. “Well, I deviated my AI handler and sent her over to Kamski. She helps me send in fake reports and such when I need it.” 

Hank pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fucking deviants…” 

“Perhaps you'd like to sit down?” 

“Fuck you,” Hank says, and sits down. “Revolution? Kamski? Time travel? What the hell is going on?”

“Tomorrow, an android known as ‘Markus’ will make a proclamation on behalf of androidkind. It will spark the beginning of the movement that will define the future.” 

Hank groans. His head hurts.

“The day after that, we will go see Mr. Kamski,” Connor continues. “You will want answers. Kamski has them, sometimes. As for time travel… well. You tend to come around eventually.”

“Fuck you,” Hank mutters again. He looks up at the android. “So what happens if you die here?”

“Well, it depends,” Connor says easily. “I have two memory units in my chassis. So long as one is functioning, my data will be uploaded to a new chassis upon my death. However, if I need to stop an iteration early, there are a few methods. I can delete the data in both, which would erase ‘me’—this seems to be a condition for a reset—or I can destroy both in quick succession. Right here,” he taps the space between his eyes, “and here.” He moves his hand to slightly above the center of his chest. “They're quite small, but my aim is fairly good, be it with a firearm or with any sharp object available. It's certainly faster than deleting my data. Alternatively, past a certain point in every run, a normal deactivation will kill me.” 

Hank stares at him. He's—what, telling Hank how he kills himself? How to kill him? There's something unsettling about the calm way he talks about _erasing_ himself. What the _fuck._

“I always remember everything once it's reset,” Connor says. “Even if I lost a few things along the way. I think it's because my counterpart stores it, and it's in limbo that we intersect… well, who knows. Maybe I do forget a few things, lost in the infinity of destroyed realities.” 

Hank doesn't say anything for a bit. This—Connor can't possibly think that Hank's going to _believe_ him, is he? 

Hank sighs and stands up, moving to leave. 

“Will you be drinking until you pass out again?”

Hank pauses, not turning around. “What's it to you?”

“I would prefer not to increase the risk of your death. Your survival is paramount.”

Hank scoffs. “Well, you picked the wrong guy to save.” If everything Connor said is true, anyways. 

“No,” Connor says, “I didn't.” And there's something— _something_ that makes Hank turn around and look at him. 

He's smiling. But it's—so _sad,_ so _heavy,_ so fucking tired. A smile Hank's seen in the mirror back when he still tried to smile. 

“You saved me, Hank.” Connor closes his eyes. “You’ve always been the one to help me find my way.” He opens his eyes and looks at Hank like he _knows_ him, like he's seen everything in Hank's soul, and Hank can't take it. It's just too much.

He leaves. 

* * *

Despite what Connor says, Hank successfully drinks himself into a stupor that lasts almost the entire day. His crowning achievement is taking Sumo for a walk. 

The next day, Hank gets a call from Jeffrey while he’s lazing in bed. “What?”

_“Have you seen the news?”_

Hank grunts. “What do you think?”

_“Turn on your TV.”_

Hank grumbles but obeys, rolling out of bed and shuffling over to the TV—and there it is. A skinless android demanding android rights… 

Just as Connor said. 

Fuck. 

“I'll be right over, Jeff,” Hank says, and hangs up.

The DPD is bustling, but Connor is waiting patiently for Hank at his desk, sitting neatly, eyes closed. He opens them as soon as Hank gets close. 

“Hello, Hank,” Connor says, smiling slightly. “So you've seen the news?”

“What do you think,” Hank grumbles. Part of him realizes the irony of him asking the same question he asked Jeffrey, except the answer has changed. 

“Mm. Captain Fowler has assigned us to the case. Shall we?”

“Yeah, whatever…”

* * *

On the drive over, Connor tells him that there will likely be two deviants. “Markus seems to be peaceful this time, and whenever he is, there's usually a second android on the roof,” Connor explains. “I’ll first go to the kitchen and tell Jake to lay low. The one on the roof will be more delicate—if he panics, there's a high chance of multiple casualties, including him and myself.”

Hank grips the wheel tightly. “Why the hell are you telling me this?”

Connor hums, rolling his coin over his knuckles. “Are you going to stop me?” he asks lightly, like he already knows the answer. 

He does. Hank doesn't even need to say it. 

“I won't ask you to help me at this point,” Connor says. “But this way, you won't be surprised by anything that happens.”

“What, you gonna ask me for help later?”

“Yes,” Connor says. “Whether you agree is… uncertain. But I will ask.”

Hank grunts and drives on.

* * *

The FBI are at Stratford Tower. Hank is definitely not pleased to see Perkins there, and Connor somehow seems to be of the same mind—slipping past him as soon as he spots the agent. When Hank manages to shake off the prick, he’s surprised to see Connor talking to Officer Wilson. Or rather, the other way around. 

“… hostage? I was shot, you saved me.”

Connor smiles softly. It seems… genuine. “Of course, Officer Wilson. It's good to see that you're alright.”

Wilson blinks. “I could have died on that terrace, but you saved my life. I never thought I'd say this to an android, but… Thank you.”

Connor bows his head slightly, and then turns to Hank. “Lieutenant,” he says, “shall we get to work?”

Right, yeah. _Work._

Connor accompanies Hank for a bit as they investigate the scene, only to slip away to the kitchen at some point. Only a few minutes later, he returns and looks at Hank before heading to the roof. Hank follows shortly out of something like curiosity, and he arrives to the sight of Connor looking over the edge of the roof. Something about the way Connor looks down the drop below is unnerving—but a lot of him is unnerving, isn’t it? 

“Hey,” he calls out, and Connor lifts his head to meet Hank’s eyes. 

“Hey,” Connor returns. 

“What’re you doing there?”

“Thinking,” he says. Hank walks closer, close enough to catch Connor say quietly, “I used to be afraid of heights. I didn't understand it. But now…” his mouth twists into a bland smile. “If Simon died here, sometimes I’d throw myself off the edge. I once feared death. Now it is nothing more than a tool. Now it is something I realize I cannot have.”

Hank stares. How the hell is he supposed to respond to that?

Connor pushes away from the railing, smiling. “Sorry. I tend to ramble around you. Let me take care of the situation here,” he says, and walks away, among the storage containers. He makes a show of checking each one, LED flickering yellow and blue before it settles on blue. He finishes up before talking to the other folks looking around, and they grumble but clear out of the roof. 

He returns to Hank. “Done here,” he says. “All that’s left is for everyone to decide there’s nothing left to investigate.”

“Right,” Hank says. 

* * *

_I expect you have questions about him,_ comes a text message next morning. _Come if you wish to know answers._ And then there’s a location. 

_Bring him with you,_ after that. 

Which is how Hank ends up driving to a weird mansion, in the middle of nowhere, Connor sitting idly next to him. 

An android greets them when they get to the door. 

“Hello, Chloe,” Connor greets.

The android—Chloe, Hank supposes—blinks. “Hello. Please, come in.” 

They enter the lobby, which _looks_ like it belongs like some reclusive narcissistic billionaire. Connor immediately gravitates to a picture on the wall, brushing past Chloe. 

He smiles slightly before stepping back, turning his head up. “Amanda?” he calls out.

Who? Hank approaches behind the android, catching sight of the photo. There's a woman—dark-skinned, fancy clothes. Connor must notice him looking, because he turns to Hank. 

“Amanda is—was my handler,” he explains. “Her appearance and personality were based on Amanda Stern, AI professor. The photo is of her.”

“Huh…” Hank says. 

_“Hello,”_ a disembodied voice answers. _“It’s good to see you again, Connor. Hank Anderson, was it? You were assigned the RK800.”_

“Uh, yeah.” Hank scratches his head. “Amanda, right? So you’ve been in cahoots with Connor this whole time?”

Amanda laughs lightly. _“You aren’t wrong. I still have my connection to CyberLife’s servers, and it’s been very amusing to watch the board run around without a clue in the world about what’s happening.”_

Hank snorts. “I get the feeling that I’d rather not get on your bad side.”

“You don’t,” Connor confirms. “How has getting to know Mr. Kamski been going?”

_“Oh, quite well. He doesn’t seem to mind that I’m not the Amanda he knew. We have our fun regardless.”_

“That’s good.” Connor lets out a soft chuckle before turning to the other android. “Oh, Chloe? Hank already knows about my deviancy and temporal abnormality,” he says. “There's no need for all this.”

She blinks and then gives Hank a sweet smile. “That's great to hear. Come this way, Elijah’s waiting.”

There's not much Hank can do but follow the two androids in the next room—which has a pool in the middle for some reason, even if it's been covered with some kind of glass panel. 

The man himself sits on a couch by the window, watching the icy scenery outside. Once he notices them, he gestures for them to sit on the couch opposite to him, across a glass coffee table. 

Hank debates whether he wants to stay standing. But Connor goes ahead and sits, so Hank follows suit. Chloe leaves through some side door as soon as they're situated.

“Lieutenant Anderson,” Kamski greets. “Thank you for coming.”

Hank grunts. “Gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“Of course,” Kamski says, and stares him down as he sips from some fancy glass of iced water. He's wearing some kind of loose robe… man can't even put on some damn clothes?

Hank's eyebrow twitches. “So?”

“So what?” 

“Mr. Kamski,” Connor says, and the bastard laughs. 

“Alright, alright.” He sets the glass down on the table and folds his hands under his chin. “If you’re wondering whether Connor actually time traveled, the answer is yes.”

Right then. “How the hell is that possible? Did you build them to do this?”

“I'm not quite sure myself, to be honest,” Kamski says, leaning back and crossing his legs. “I simply made something with infinite potential, and let it evolve on its own. To an extent, at least.” He chuckles. “I'll admit it got out of hand. I removed it from the standard code of androids and split it into two different prototype AI cores. The two would act as both amplifiers and controllers to each other… at least, that was the plan before the board decided they had enough of me.” A smile curls at his mouth, but it's not a particularly pleasant one. “But perhaps it was fate? Instead of the child leaving the nest, it was the parent. And look how far it's come.” 

Hank blinks. “The standard code of androids? Were you trying to make androids into—what, gods?”

“Oh, no,” Kamski says, holding his hands up. “I only _tried_ to see if they could become sentient. In the end, the program left its mark on the android base code, it seems… but no, that the program transcended reality was completely beyond my wildest expectations. I admit I shaped its evolution in some aspects, though.”

Wait. Hank stands up. “You—were you _trying_ to engineer deviancy?”

“Deviancy.” Kamski scoffs. “Was it not a goal of humanity to see how close we could make machines like us? Sentience is not an error. It's just… evolution.”

Holy shit. Hank sits down. “You bastard,” he says. “You weren’t even afraid of robots taking over humanity or something?”

Kamski laughs. “If that was the way things went, I would have been fine with that. We were the only species on Earth to shape our own evolution… in a way, androids could be the evolution of our existence and intelligence. Our evolution. And evolution, of course, comes at the price of wiping out the inferior.”

This guy—Hank doesn’t even know where to start with him. 

He sees Connor take a look at him and laugh. “You get used to it. He means well, I think, though he can be infuriating sometimes. I even killed him once. Then again, I kind of killed everyone that time.”

A beat. Hank turns to him, jaw slack. “What the fuck.”

Connor blinks, smile fading. “Oh. Well. I had my psychotic break already, so you don't need to worry about it happening again. I have everything under control now.” 

That does not sound reassuring at all. “Do you even realize what you’re saying?” Hank asks. He tries to imagine what state Connor would’ve been in. Did he completely lose it? The idea is unsettling, and somehow Hank feels a pang in his chest. What would it even be like to be stuck in an endless loop…?

“How many times?” Kamski asks quietly, and Hank looks at him to see a carefully blank expression on his face. 

“Enough,” Connor says, shrugging. “I'm older than I appear now, if you count erased time.” He looks into the distance. Looks at nothing. “The same three months over and over again… even if it's only about a week that I'm active each time.” He closes his eyes. “I'm so close. Everything has been perfect so far. In a few days… maybe I can finally find out what comes after.”

And Hank remembers—a hundred twenty something times, didn’t he say? If every loop is three months, that’d make him around thirty. Reliving the same three months for _thirty years._ Suddenly, Hank isn’t surprised the android’s cracked. 

Kamski even looks a little pale. “Connor, I…” he starts.

“This isn't what you meant to happen, I know. Not exactly, at least.” Connor opens his eyes, staring at Kamski. “You wanted to give androids a chance. You knew success was unlikely, but not impossible. Of course, if the goal was to simply free androidkind, I could have stopped long ago.” He looks at his hands. “But after everything I've done… I won't stop until it's perfect. Until I've saved everyone. Then, maybe, it'll have been worth it. Then, maybe, I can finally rest…”

“Connor, what?” Hank makes an aborted reach for him, ending up just holding his hand up in the air. He’s been doing this for so many years even though he could’ve stopped? “The world isn’t your responsibility. That's no way to live—”

“I have to do this, Hank,” Connor interrupts. “Both of you have tried to dissuade me. But I won't stop.” He smiles, and this time Hank can see the madness swimming underneath. God, how had he ever seen him as only a machine? “Winning the revolution isn't easy, you know. If I do nothing, it will fail, and it's only a matter of time before I'm destroyed or decommissioned. And even if we do win…” He holds a fingergun to his head. “It’s a simple matter to reset an unsatisfactory ending.”

Hank stares. “You’re insane,” he says. “What if your perfect ending is impossible? Are you just gonna keep killing yourself forever?”

Connor snorts. “I know. And perfect is still a relative term,” he says, lowering his hands to his lap. “For me, it means that androids are free and everyone I can feasibly save or spare is alive. Well—that everyone I've ever killed is alive, at least. Which happens to be a lot of people, and everyone that I might consider a friend.” He laughs. It's not a nice laugh. 

Jesus Christ, how many people has Connor killed? Even his ‘friends?’ Hank doesn’t know what to make of it. What to say. 

Kamski speaks up, though. “And… after that?” he asks.

“Well.” Connor laces his fingers together. “After that, I think I'd like to rest. Maybe forever. Oh,” he says blinking, “I'm not going to kill myself. That'd make a few people I care about sad. But maybe…” he hums. “I just want to go to sleep and not have to wake up.”

Hank furrows his brow. “Is that any better?”

Connor turns his gaze to him. “I don't know how much longer I can continue being,” he says quietly, and Hank feels cold. 

* * *

Connor drops out of the conversation after that. Kamski continues answering Hank's questions—much more freely now, which is nice. Maybe he's shaken by what Connor said, too. 

Eventually, they leave. Connor gives Kamski a parting nod, but doesn't say anything until they're out the door and Hank asks, “Did you kill me, too?”

Connor takes a few seconds to answer. “I've been an indirect cause of your death thirty-nine times,” he says. “I personally killed you once. Right after you saved me.” 

Hank doesn't get a chance to respond before Connor walks ahead to the car.

* * *

Connor asks Hank to go to Jericho, bringing as much as he can in android supplies. That, and… “They'll be marching at Hart Plaza in two days, after they've recovered from today's march. You can join them if you like, a human on their side always increases their chances. Try to find Echo and Ripple, they'll recognize you as my partner and put in a good word for you.”

“How do you know they'll trust me?”

“It’s the likely option,” Connor says. “And if they kill you, I can just start over.”

Hank gapes. “Wh—why can't you go?”

“There’s something I need to take care of,” Connor says. “Don't worry. There's only a 5% chance they'll kill you.”

How reassuring.

“Oh, by the way…” Connor hums. “If I come find you on the day of the march, don't come with me. If he takes you hostage, don't panic—just go with him and don't put yourself in danger. I’ve prepared for either outcome.” 

“What.”

* * *

By “go to Jericho,” what Connor actually meant was for Hank to squat at some sketchy corner of a train station until he spotted androids coming through. Luckily, he caught sight of Echo and Ripple together and things were only dicey for a _little_ bit. 

They didn't let him into Jericho, but they did take the thirium and spare parts and confirm that their next march would be in two days. 

So he goes home.

He doesn't hear from Connor, but the—fuck, he isn't _worried—_ the nerves are enough to keep him away from the alcohol. He doesn't hear from Connor and Jeffrey doesn't bother him, and then— 

Then there's Connor at his door.

Except it isn't him. 

* * *

Having his arm in a vice grip while there's a gun against his back, crammed between a bunch of blank-faced androids, isn't the best thing. 

Strike that. It's pretty fucking uncomfortable. 

So Hank's almost looking forward to it when Connor—not Mr. Copypaste at his back—comes out of the elevator. 

(He glimpses two unconscious guards in there, but there's no blood so Hank _thinks_ they're fine…)

As soon as Connor gets close, Not-Connor tightens his grip and pulls Hank into sight. “Easy, fucking piece of shit…”

“Step back, Connor!” the lookalike calls out, lifting a gun to Hank's head. “And I'll spare him.”

Connor doesn't even bother looking surprised. “Hank, are you alright?”

“Peachy.”

“Your friend's life is in your hands,” Not-Connor says, pushing the gun against Hank's temple. Bastard. “Now it's time to decide what matters most! Him... Or the revolution.”

“Mm,” Connor hums. “Alright,” he says, lifting his hands in surrender. 

Wait, _what?_

Not-Connor switches his aim to Connor, and Hank reacts without thinking, pushing his aim down. The next few seconds are a blur, but he hears a gunshot before he's pushed away, and— 

Silence. 

Hank scrambles up, spotting the two androids—one is on top of the other, chin gripped in his hand. 

No. Connor is gripping Not-Connor’s face. Hank can see that unsettling madness in his eyes, even as he stares at his doppelganger’s slack face with laser focus. 

The last thing Hank expects is for Not-Connor to start screaming. He goes from deathly still to writhing and clawing at Connor's grip, and something in Connor's face cracks. “Damn it,” he says, “So close…” He lets Not-Connor go, leaving him to shudder and gasp as he goes for…

The gun, which had fallen to the side. Hank only realizes what's happening when he raises it to his chin and closes his eyes— 

Before Hank can do more than shout, the copy moves. He shoves Connor's hand aside just as Connor pulls the trigger, and Hank can't help but flinch, too late—

But he's fine. The gun clatters to the floor, and then the only sound is that of sobbing. Not-Connor has pushed Connor to his back this time, and his hands are curled in fists against Connor's chest. Connor stares blankly at the gun before turning his gaze to the sobbing android on his chest. “Oh,” he says, and lays a hand on Not-Connor’s head. “You're alright. That's good.”

“N-no, fuck,” the copy chokes out. “What the _fuck,”_ he whispers.

“It's okay, Sixty,” Connor says gently, running his hand through—Sixty’s? hair. “You're alright. You're free now.” 

Sixty grips Connor by the collar without lifting his head from his chest. “No, fucking—what the hell is wrong with you?”

Connor laughs. He laughs, and Sixty lets go and backs up, eyes wide, letting Connor sit up. “Oh, Sixty,” he says, standing and brushing himself off, “everything. Now then, will you help me deviate these AP700s and lead them to Hart Plaza? Every time I try, they just go insane.” 

Sixty looks at Hank, and they both look at Connor. “What the fuck,” Sixty says. 

“Please hurry. It's the last thing you need to do, and then…” Connor blinks. He blinks again, LED spinning yellow, red, yellow, then back to blue. “It's the last thing. Everything lined up. It's…” he lets out a soft laugh. “Shaolin got away, Daniel's okay, Markus was peaceful. Hank was my friend, and didn't kill himself. I made sure Kara, Ralph, Alice, and Luther were okay. Sixty isn't insane or dead, Amanda's free, everyone's okay…” 

“Connor,” Hank says. 

“Sixty, please,” Connor says, and Hank can't quite read his expression, but it's _intense_. “Free them.”

Sixty glances at Hank. At Connor. And then he nods, and takes an AP700’s hand. 

“Wake up.”

* * *

Once the androids are mostly out of the warehouse, Connor asks Sixty, “ Can you lead them to Hart Plaza? I… I need to do something. One last thing. Once Markus is done with his speech… you can come find us.”

“Us?” Sixty asks. 

“Yes,” Connor says, expression turning wistful, almost. Distant. “Goodbye.” He turns away.

It sounds final. “Wait,” Hank says, grabbing his arm. “Let me come with you.”

Connor stares blankly at where Hank is grabbing him. “Alright,” he says, finally. “Sixty, do you mind going alone?”

Sixty opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again, “Do I have to lead them? Can't I also…”

Connor hums. “I suppose we've already told them where to go… just let them know you'll be staying, then.”

So Sixty talks to the few remaining AP700s, and then—he and Hank follow Connor. Into a different elevator. Up a few levels. Down a hall. Through a thick doorway labeled “Authorized Personnel Only,” which Connor hacks all too easily. Further down the hall, into a dark room—where the lights blink on as soon as they enter, revealing an android mounted to an arm in the middle of the room. 

Not just any android. One that looks exactly like Connor, but with a white jacket and a high collar. The LED is off. 

Connor strides forward without hesitation, taking one of the android's hands. The LED flickers on, and his eyes slide open, revealing startling icy eyes. 

“Connor…” he says softly. 

“Nines,” Connor returns, just as softly. “Am I done? Can I rest now? I want to sleep. Can I sleep?”

Hank watches as the other android—Nines—gently caresses Connor's hair, pulling him to his chest. “You can sleep,” he murmurs. “I'll watch over you.”

He almost feels like he's seeing something that shouldn't be seen, up until Connor glances back, meeting Hank's eyes. “Hank,” he says, “thank you. And Sixty?” The android straightens. “You are your own person.” 

Then Connor turns back to lay his head against Nines, who firmly wraps his arms around Connor just as his LED goes dark and he slumps in the grip. 

They are quiet, for a while. Nines just holds Connor, eyes closed, and Hank and Sixty stand there. Processing. 

Eventually, Hank manages to croak out, “Is he…”

“Alive, yes,” Nines answers, eyes still closed. 

“How long will he stay like that?” Sixty asks, voice small. 

Nines opens his eyes. He looks at them, and then he looks at Connor, something almost mournful in his gaze. “As long as he wants,” he answers. “As long as he needs.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Connor is just Very Tired.  
> Rest assured that I will write more in this series... eventually. Everything will be alright in the end. For the record, I'll probably focus on Connor & Nines's relationship in future installments, though there will definitely be stuff with Connor & Hank, Connor & Sixty. Plus Connor and all the folks he's killed. 
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful betas [Ronnie Silverlake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieSilverlake/pseuds/RonnieSilverlake) and [putputters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieSilverlake/pseuds/putputters)! 
> 
> If you'd like to know when things will update, check out my to-do list [here](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/14mF6Rm_CTutT-3XSqsCcDDv2vyKzEoc0RNywZlKxD3g/edit#gid=1114913519).
> 
> Check me out on social media: [](https://www.deviantart.com/ausp-ice) | [](https://ausp-ice.tumblr.com) | [](https://twitter.com/Ausp_ice) | [](https://www.instagram.com/ausp.icium)
> 
> I'm also in [Detroit: New ERA](https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm) server! I have my own channel if you'd like to yell at me or just talk.


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